A Dream Within
by Sister Coyote
Summary: It was hard, on the morning before one of Cecil's diplomatic missions, to rise from the bed they shared, to bathe and dress and go out and watch Cecil go out to the airship dock, and keep a calm smile on her face. Final Fantasy 4. Cecil/Rosa, post-game.


Night, high in the highest tower of Baron, and Cecil was glad of the winds that whistled around the parapets for the excuse they gave him to wrap his arms around Rosa's shoulders and hold her close against his chest. (Not that, in truth, he needed a reason anymore.) Far below, the dancing was still going on—Yang and Cid had retired to chat about old times, but Edge, having finally coaxed Rydia onto the dance floor, seemed disinclined to stop until the musicians cried for mercy and packed up their instruments. Fireworks, shot off by Cid's exuberant young engineers, burst against the sky: silver and blue, rose and gold.

"Look," Rosa said, pointing far below to the distinctive shape of Rydia in green, where she tugged free of Edge's hands and spun on her toes—and then there was a dragon, gleaming white, cavorting amidst the fireworks above. Cecil laughed, and kissed Rosa beneath her ear.

"They're going to have me up early, discussing politics with Edward and Edge and the contingent from Troia tomorrow," he whispered.

Rosa turned in his arms, drew his head down, and kissed him; said, "Then we had best make the most of tonight."

* * *

It was hard, on the morning before one of Cecil's diplomatic missions, to rise from the bed they shared, to bathe and dress and go out and watch Cecil go out to the airship dock with a calm smile on her face. Other couples were allowed to part with tears and kisses; it wasn't seemly for a king and queen. So she watched with a serene smile, and went in to breakfast with the same smile in place—resolved a minor dispute, approved the steward's budget for the month, cast Float on behalf of a builder repairing one of the high walls.

She didn't allow herself any of the customary tears until she had a moment to herself, late in the afternoon, before she was expected for tea with one of the regional dukes. With Cid running interference for her (thank all the gods and eidolons for Cid), she found fifteen minutes to shut herself in an antechamber and shed a few tears. It went against all her instincts, to let Cecil go on his own—and she never would have, before; she was strong enough to fight, brave enough to risk her life, determined enough to accompany him even over his predictable protests.

But, while an exile captain and his white-mage lover could both leave to trek across the world, Baron could not be without both its King and Queen at once. Especially not now, with doubt and fear running so high. She must be strong enough, now, to stay; brave enough to smile and reassure and convince the people of her country that all was well; determined enough to keep it up until, finally, they could be together again.

Still, she felt no shame in shedding tears because she missed her husband, and so she did, and then washed her face with cold water, and dried it, smoothed her hair, and went out again to prepare for dinner.

* * *

He knew that it was unseemly, and yet upon his return Cecil's eyes sought Rosa out on the ramparts and clung to her so intensely that he almost tripped over the Baron bridge. He couldn't see so far—could only make out the color of her hair, so distinctive he would have known it anywhere—but he could imagine her smiling at his clumsiness, and also shaking her head.

And he suddenly missed her so intensely that he wanted to walk into the castle—to _run_ into the castle—and up the stairs to the ramparts, and kiss her breathless, and then pull her off to their chambers in the tower. It had been two weeks. Two weeks without her—two weeks too long.

But he couldn't; of course he couldn't. There was protocol to follow, and there were questions his steward and his chamberlain had waited two weeks for an answer to; he had to make sure that his men were well-fed, and that those with any injuries or illnesses were escorted to the white magic study; he had to see to it that all was well in his country's capitol.

Still, at the formal welcome dinner that stretched on and on and on, he reached under the table and found Rosa's hand, wound her fingers with his; a pressure on his skin even older and more familiar to him than the weight of his crown, and infinitely more reassuring.

* * *

"I hate that you're gone so often," Rosa said that night in the tower room, brushing her long hair in the firelight. She put down her hairbrush and turned to look at him. He was standing at the window: a familiar pose, but one she'd never seen him do since he'd shed his dark knight colors and become a paladin. "No, that's not true. I just hate that I can't go with you."

"They need you here." Cecil drummed his fingertips on the sill. "They need one of us here, and they also need someone to go out and lead the rebuilding forces in my name. And there's no one I can send in my name—no one I've known long enough to trust with that."

A long, long silence. Rosa got up, sweeping her loose hair over her shoulder, and put her arms around Cecil from behind, her nose against the back of his neck. After a moment he relaxed against her. "I know," she said. "I miss Kain, too."

Cecil chuffed a laugh. "You know me too well, I think."

"Just well enough," she said, resting her cheek against the back of his shoulder, but she thought: how much of it is because of me, that Kain will not return?

* * *

It was always a pleasure to have visitors, but there was a special pleasure in having Yang and his wife Antha visit, because Antha was as much a queen as Rosa—and as disinclined to stand on ceremony. And she came more often, now, to some degree because she wanted Rosa's opinion on her pregnancy, but mostly as an excuse to talk.

"Cecil is gone again?"

"Yes," Rosa said. "To Troia, this time. They're still . . . somewhat less than pleased with Baron, on principle."

"Hmm," Antha said, and then, "And how do you hold up on your own, my dear?"

"Well enough. The castle nearly runs itself, these days."

"I think you discount your own contribution too much, but then, you would. That said—you miss your husband."

"There isn't much we can do about—" Rosa said, and then stopped, because Antha was handing her a package, with a glitter in her eye. The package was heavy for its size, and Rosa felt it with her fingertips and knew immediately that it was a frying pan.

She burst out laughing. "I'm not certain I want my husband concussed, no offense intended."

"None taken. But don't discount the need to get a gentleman's attention. Them who take their duty seriously are wont to get caught up in it, and the better than person, the harder it will be for them to leave it at the doorway of your bedroom. Yourself included, my dear."

"I'll remember that," Rosa said.

* * *

"Antha thinks I should hit you on the head with a frying pan," Rosa said, sounding amused.

Cecil could feel the expression of mild alarm on his face. He couldn't seem to help it. "Does she?"

"She left me her pan, in fact," Rosa said, and then began to laugh. "Don't worry. I'm not going to do it. Just—the look on your face . . . !"

"Pray tell, why does Antha think I need a lump on my head?"

Rosa sobered. "She thinks I'm lonely," she said, finally.

Cecil opened his mouth and closed it, and then opened it again. "Are you?"

"No," Rosa said, and then sighed. " . . . And yes. I don't want for company, and I have so many friends here, you know that." It was the truth; Rosa had always been popular with . . . everyone. Baron had never had a princess, but it might as well have had, for all that they loved her. "But I miss you. Sometimes I wish—that we could be married just to each other, and not to the country."

"Rosa . . . ."

"And I know that's not possible," she said, and then she was in his arms, smelling sweet, the sweep of her hair loose against his cheek. "And I wouldn't even want it if I could have it; I want to rebuild, I want to make things right again, but I miss you. That's all."

"I miss you too," he said against her temple. "When I'm away, I—I'm so much better with you, I don't think you know that. You're good enough by yourself, but I . . . ." She was shaking her head against him, and he knew if he pushed, she would argue. So he didn't. He just said, "I'm here now."

"I know," Rosa said, and turned her face to his, and kissed him.


End file.
